


Red Morning Light

by fromward (from)



Series: a little singing between two great rests [1]
Category: Smallville
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, Pre-Canon, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-01
Updated: 2011-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-25 19:07:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/273724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/from/pseuds/fromward
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lex likes being alive in the new year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Morning Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Betrue (beet)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beet/gifts).



> Beta: onelittlesleep
> 
> Written in 2005.

1998

 

Freddie told Lex he won't be back in London until Friday, but Lex can’t wait—no, …doesn’t want to wait. It’s January 1st and he wants to screw around as much as possible before they have to go back on Sunday night to that bloody monastery that calls itself a school. He knows Lionel must have seen his Michaelmas term grades by now. He’s going to suffer till Trinity, if not straight through to June. The masters and his tutor will see to it.

Lex tells the cab driver to go to the house on Culross Street and sinks back into the seat. His trousers are starting to dry, but the heat of the club stays with him, as still as the air in black and white photographs of war. He knows that his darling co-captain is still in Yorkshire, stuck at the family's country house with Lady Walking Mothball and the rest of the clan, which includes six Deerhounds and a terrier whose tongue is the most peculiar color of red – as if it was a sliver of exposed flesh.

When they get to Mayfair, it’s twelve past five in the morning and fog dark. Lex gives the man two twenty-pound notes and pulls his blazer tighter against his otherwise bare torso. Lex staggers to the door when the black cab pulls away. He doesn’t need to knock. There is a glowing light in the first-floor bedroom and someone is already waiting for him to come in.

“Can’t sleep?” He steps into the entryway, noticing the tight shoulders begging for him to unknot them. “Trouble in the House of Lords?” The front door closes and the small lamp above them isn’t enough anymore. He walks into the reception room, tripping in more ways than one.

Freddie’s father chuckles, but his voice sounds like the angry rain they had all through December. “Lex, I thought we were done with this.”

“Lex,” he whispers his own name, echoing this man whom he knows is starting to see what it is like to lose everything, to always be losing everything, little by little, year by year. Lex has just unlocked the doors to the small garden and there is no doubt in his mind that they are _not_ done. “I thought we were done with this.”

“Come, Lex,” the voice calls, louder. “Off to bed with you.”

He’s cold, he decides. The heat did not have the pedigree to enter this house and has left him to fend for himself. He turns to his host, who is standing by the closest armchair to the doors. He takes off his blazer and lets it fall to the tiles below. It won’t dry anyway. It’s ruined.

Freddie told Lex that he hopes the government gets their way. He doesn’t want to inherit his father’s seat in the House. He wants to go to Lapland and play ice golf all his life or some stupid shit like that. Lex is naked from the waist up and he hopes Freddie’s father will never know about his son. It’s never good when fathers know.

“Almost time for the house to wake, Lex.”

Lex smiles. Watches silently as his blazer is picked up and slung over an arm. He waits. He wants to be taken.

Freddie’s father shakes his head. He has already stepped out, Lex tells the man with his eyes. What’s another step closer?

A hand touches his streaked, damp, already-fucked mouth.

He leans in not more than half an inch and he is kissing this man, whose steady hand moves to hold him from behind. Lex can smell the ink on the old dressing-gown, taste the shadow of tea over the roar of twenty-year-old whiskey. He is breathing history, Lex thinks. Before he was born, there was this liquid, laying low and silent in cellars that never see the sun.

Lex has nothing to give back but the dirt of the present and that amuses him as he spells out with the tip of his tongue what may resemble an equation of _please_ = (let's = you + me) + fuck, the proofing of it worthy of consideration by mathematicians and teenage whores.

Maybe he is enjoying this a little too much.

Wool and skin rub against his naked back, directing his attention back to the man in front of him. Lex pulls the robe apart, rubs his hand along the small buttons of the pajama top and reaches down.

Freddie's father's cock is hard and Lex remembers the guy at the club earlier tonight, asking Lex to suck him off against the cubicle walls. He knows he won’t be asked again as such, not in this enclosed, ivy-covered garden anyway; his knees take him to the ground.

Pulling the red pants down, Lex puts his face right against the erection, feeling the man’s hands on his neck, his ear, the shoulder he hurt fencing last year. His forehead touches the slimmest of old bellies and he shivers when he catches the scent of pre-come leaking right above his lip. He takes the head into his mouth, dragging his lips along the length as his hands find their grip around the man’s waist. Whatever the latest talk, both here and back home, he doesn’t do this very often. Freddie’s father, they might say, is a lucky man.

Lex doesn’t care either way. Not even if the news was to hit Freddie. It’s the new year and he’s still alive.

He is servicing the Senior Lord of Appeal in a garden meant for the man’s young granddaughter. He’s lost his shirt and he is licking and nipping and pushing and pulling deep into his throat and sucking, sucking harder.

He sees his shadow against the brick wall. A light has come on somewhere in the back of the house. He closes his eyes. He does not need to see everything.

It is only after he has swallowed the last of the come that Lex realizes he has been covered by his own blazer. A proper encounter after all, he thinks. He tries to grin but his jaw aches.

The man pulls him up and takes him to a bathroom upstairs.

Lex is shaking his head the whole way there.

He slips into scalding water and moves only so he doesn’t feel like throwing up. When his host doesn’t return after Lex has drank two bottles of Ty Nant in long swallows, he knows that in the kitchen, they are preparing breakfast.

He has his friend’s bed for the day, if not for the rest of the holidays.

Lex settles for a set of clean clothes and the front door. A peculiar but attractive message arrived yesterday at the hotel. It requires a reply that can only be given by his own hand and mouth.


End file.
